


(hard time) letting you go

by rinsuna



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Hopeful Ending, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Post-Break Up, Post-Timeskip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:35:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29178810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinsuna/pseuds/rinsuna
Summary: The weather didn’t hold any significance. Rintarou knew that. Some people got their hearts broken on sunny days, others held hands or shared their first kiss under the rain. The sun was shining bright the day he moved out, but his clothes might as well have been drenched by rain, or his limbs numb from the cold bite of wind.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36





	(hard time) letting you go

**Author's Note:**

> first of all i feel like warning that this fic has an unreliable narrator and that some of suna's thoughts and words may be biased and make it seem like things are much more black and white than they actually are. also, if that matters, the tag says post-break up, but it really is about a divorce. 
> 
> a huge thank you to quip for being an awesome beta building my confidence back up when i was on the verge of completely deleting this fic.

Miya Rintarou wasn’t one to put much meaning behind the weather, but that one morning, it was raining. He knew it was because he pretended to be too invested in watching the droplets rolling down the window as Osamu tried to catch his attention. 

“Rin, I know ya’ can hear me.“

Rintarou did hear him, still, that didn’t get him to make a move. His eyes focused on a new droplet, as the one they were following had just reached the bottom of the window. In the background, his husband sighed. He may have been across the room, but Rintarou swore he felt his hot breath right into his ear, sending chills down his spine.

His husband.

“We can’t keep this up. It has to stop.”

Rintarou took a sip of his coffee. It was bitter, just the way he liked it. The coffee machine was expensive, a wedding gift, courtesy of one of Osamu’s cousins whose name Rintarou could never remember. The Miya family was so big he doubted Osamu even did. 

“Can you stop this, please?”

“I can sleep on the couch— Tonight. I mean—”

Rintarou tried and failed to swallow the lump in his throat before speaking up again. “It’s not what I want.”

“We can fix it.”

“No, we can’t. We’ve tried, for months. I am unhappy with this and so are you.”

Osamu sighed again, louder this time. “Am not.”

“Well, _I am._ So we have to put an end to this, at least for my sake. Don’t wanna go crazy.”

Osamu left the room at that, to get ready for work, but Rintarou didn’t feel any less lonely. 

The weather didn’t hold any significance. Rintarou knew that. Some people got their hearts broken on sunny days, others held hands or shared their first kiss under the rain. The sun was shining bright the day he moved out, but his clothes might as well have been drenched by rain, or his limbs numb from the cold bite of wind.

Osamu let him take the coffee machine with him. 

***

“Rin, if you don’t come and get them, I’ll have to throw them away.”

Rintarou absently stared at his shirtless reflection in the mirror, captivated by the crimson marks decorating pale collarbones. They were starting to fade. The last three times he came over to pick up his things weren’t exactly a success. He wondered why Osamu still bothered. He bit back the _‘I came to get them already’_ that tingled the tip of his tongue and pushed against his teeth. “I’ll drop by after practice tonight.” 

“I’ll be there.”

Osamu was smarter than that. Rintarou knew that he truly wanted this to be over, but he had asked him to come over way too many times to still believe it was going to work. When Rintarou didn’t make up excuses to avoid having to take a further step into whatever the mess they were in was, he ended up pushed against a wall, a couch, a mattress. After all, a part of him vainly hoped that maybe Osamu regretted this, maybe he still cared. 

He went. He relished the feeling of hot skin against his, calloused fingertips rubbing against the soft yet sharp edges of his hips, a croaky voice whispering his name, remnants of a love that got lost somewhere on the way. He was aware that he should regret this, but he didn’t, not in the slightest.

When he left, with Osamu asleep in what used to be their bed, Rintarou walked by the dining room table, on top of which sat the box containing his belongings. He didn’t spare it a glance as he closed the door behind him. 

Down the street, there was a coffee shop. Rintarou remembered passing it when he happened to go on a morning run. He considered stopping there for a second, before deciding against it. He wanted to get away from this neighborhood as quickly as possible. He walked in big strides, dreading in the back of his mind an Osamu running after him—though even deeper inside, Rintarou knew Osamu had never been one to run after people. 

He couldn’t tell what was more disappointing, if he was even allowed to feel this way in the first place. He didn’t really want to be ran after, though he couldn’t help but aching for it. 

***

“Tatsuki said white flowers would make more sense, but I think it would be a bit too bland, wouldn’t it? Like, I get it, but it’s way too classic.”

Rintarou heard Komori, but he wasn’t fully processing the question. It was one of those days where he decided to be irritated with everyone. Komori had asked him to meet up and get coffee on their day off and, though he'd agreed, he knew it meant having to listen to Komori dilly-dally for hours about how easy he had life and complaining about having to pick between all available flavors for the fancy and crazy expensive wedding cake he craved. Rintarou missed the time when it was _his_ issue to deal with, even if neither of them had actually cared back then, letting Aran crawl through the planning of their wedding while they were fooling around.

Rintarou didn’t think he could take it for much longer. He wanted to go back to the loneliness of his apartment—that was wide enough to fit two teams of the V-League and their families—and mope around all day. For the entire week, maybe, even. He wasn’t sure their coach would let him call in sick anymore, at least without getting him checked by a doctor.

“Motoya.” He glared down at the untouched cup of coffee in front of him and used a low, cold tone as he looked up again, from under his eyelids. “Yer pissin’ me off.”

It was mean and gratuitous. A sour and heavy feeling took shelter at the bottom of his stomach as he stared up at his friend, seeing his face twist in an unpleasant way. Komori didn’t let himself be stepped on, which saved Rintarou from the guilt that would have loomed over him with anyone else. If he was lucky enough, maybe he’d even get a slap in the face, strong enough that it would chase away his bothersome thoughts.

“Well,” Komori pulled back, squinting. “This is what I get for dealing with your cranky attitude for weeks. I’ve been nice enough to ignore it until now but that— that settles it.” 

He stood up, picked up the wedding magazines and pamphlets that were displayed on the table between them, and stared him down. _Good riddance,_ Rintarou thought. He couldn’t bear the sight of the models’ exaggerated grins on the covers for much longer.

“I don’t know what the fuck happened between you and Osamu this time, but you better fix it soon, because I am sick of all your mood swings. And I—” Komori drawled, undoubtedly for the dramatic effect he always wanted to make when he was fuming. “—have never been good at playing with people I can’t stand.” 

He dropped a few yen on the table before taking his leave, and in spite of their altercation, Rintarou noticed he was still paying for the both of them.

It was only after Komori was gone that Rintarou picked up on it. The accent. Osamu tended to comment on it every time he slipped up and butchered words in the middle of fights to ease the tension, and Rintarou hated it. At least, Osamu had at first, because when conflicts became more frequent, he started staying quiet until Rintarou was done and walked away. And then, Rintarou started hating the silence even more than the accent comments. 

He could still remember the day Osamu mentioned it.

It was at the beginning of spring. They were on the way home after practice, right before Rintarou and the twins had to part ways. Cherry blossom petals were falling, and Atsumu was bragging about his service ace Rintarou hadn’t been able to receive. Rintarou had grumbled insults in response, too tired to come up with wittier words or to pay attention to the way he was forming words. The blond had let out an ugly outburst of laughter, and when Rintarou turned to his twin for an explanation, he was met with a smile he refused to call winsome. 

“Looks like you’ve picked up our accent. Yer one of us now, n’matter what you say.”

“I did not. Shut up.” He had answered confidently, sticking out his chest and scrunching up his face. Osamu merely grinned wider and didn’t insist. Rintarou had wanted to tell him he looked uglier than Atsumu ever had but couldn’t bring himself to. 

“See ya’ tomorrow, Sunarin.”

At that, Osamu followed his brother, who was already way ahead and still cackling. Even with his back facing him, Rintarou was sure the smile didn’t fade. Petulantly, and out of spite, he didn’t point out the petal that landed on top of Osamu's head. Rintarou shook his own head and ruffled his hair, just in case. 

***

Now though, in the coffee shop, after Komori had left, no one was here to point out an acquired accent. No one was there to hold it against him or to tease him for it, and Rintarou didn’t have anything to deny or anyone to get mad at. 

Osamu had nothing to do with it. Rintarou moved to Hyogo when he was fifteen, and he was still in touch with many people from this area. It was only natural for him to pick up the accent and dialect. A life with Osamu alone certainly was not what had turned the tide. It didn’t have to relate to him exclusively.

In spite of his efforts to empty the cup with the sheer power of his eyes, nothing changed. 

He drank the coffee. The waitress had mixed up their orders, and Komori poured sugar into it before either of them could notice her mistake. The distaste was apparent on his face. If someone were to take a picture of him at this instant, Rintarou wouldn’t give it more than two hours before his face was turned into a meme on social media.

It was too sweet. Rintarou finished it anyway.

***

Rintarou still couldn't believe that he let himself get dragged out of his apartment to some bar when his plans for the weekend were to sleep and feel like shit. He toyed with his ring, sliding it up and down the length of a bony finger. If he closed his eyes, if he forgot about this place, he could remember their wedding. The can he was holding was a flute; the liquid was champagne instead, not some low-cost beer.

The music was still blasting, crushing his eardrums, but he couldn't care less because the fingers brushing his golden band were Osamu’s and not his own.

If he opened his eyes, he wouldn't see his husband’s loving gaze, but like this, he could feel it. He carried his love around, wherever he went. Osamu didn’t leave him, from the way he'd picked up his accent when he yelled to the simple fact that Rintarou felt an urge to send him the picture of his dinner before posting it on his Instagram story.

“What do you think of that one? He’s handsome, huh? Looks like you caught his eye.”

Rintarou’s eyes snapped open and, just like that, the spell was broken. Looking up at Ginjima, he then followed the direction of his nod. Some guy with a hair bun standing at the counter was staring at him intensely, a cocky smile plastered on his face. Maybe he was handsome, Rintarou couldn’t tell. All he knew, all he’d known for a couple of years now, was that Osamu was his type of guy. And this stranger wasn’t Osamu.

“Gin.” Rintarou scolded him, disbelief apparent on his face.

“What?” Oblivious, Ginjima leaned his head to the side, and Rintarou wanted to take offense, but what little patience he had got the better of him. 

“I’m _married_. You were my best man, remember?” He raised his hand next to his head, pointing at his ring finger for emphasis.

“Rin— you know I talk to Osamu, right?”

Rintarou frowned; receiving this question was like a punch in the gut. Of course he did, and he wasn’t sure he liked the turn the conversation was taking.

“Whatever Osamu—” Rintarou choked, the air around him dissolving. It felt out of place, talking about him—about _it—_ like this. “Whatever he said, he's exaggerating it. Couples fight and take breaks, that happens everyday. Didn’t you have to sleep at Atsumu’s for a week because your girlfriend threw you out when you came home drunk after a party? Ah, see?”

“But Rin… He filed for divorce.” It came as quiet as a summer breeze in the middle of a storm, though it was very unlikely to witness these two things at the same spot at the same time, let alone in some dirty bar. The air was heavy, had been from the moment they stepped in the building, but only now did Rintarou let it take its toll on him. He wanted to get out of here but couldn’t bring himself to move.

Back in high school, Ginjima’s goofy nature was always made fun of by the team. His misery was laughing stock as he was left a sweating mess whenever their captain, Kita, reprimanded him for it. However, his girlfriends over the years seemed to find it rather cute, and that was good for him, much better than them getting offended and leaving him because of it. In this moment, though, Rintarou didn’t find it very amusing. 

“Uh, fuck fuck _fuck_.” Ginjima mouthed that last word a few times, and Rintarou could almost hear the strangled sounds that were coming out of his throat, a typical consequence of his mistakes. “Sorry. I thought you knew—”

“I did know.”

A blatant lie. If Ginjima noticed, he didn’t point it out. Rintarou tried to save face, hoping his friend wouldn't see the way his jaw clenched in the darkness of the club, contrasting with the flashing and dizzying lights.

He ended up dancing with the man that Ginjima had found so handsome. He danced close for a minute, maybe less, before pulling away quickly enough to go back to his friend’s side, forgetting about the man as soon as he left him. It didn’t feel right, none of it was familiar, and he felt dizzy and lost, alone.

All of him was longing for hands on his hips, bodies swaying gently together, soft words whispered in his ears, delicate kisses pressed against his skin, his lips. He only wanted to exist in one specific day, in a familiar bed, between familiar hands. Rintarou was longing for what he couldn’t have, what he used to have and lost. 

***

The next morning, he woke up with his brain throbbing in his skull, lying on Ginjima’s second-hand sofa. The clank of a mug on the coffee table didn't help his headache. 

“Dark and bitter. Disagreeable, just like you.” 

Rintarou propped himself up on his elbows, squinting for a good minute as he tried to get his eyes to adjust to the morning light. He felt miserable, and he was fine with that. Under any other circumstances, he would have gotten back at Ginjima for the jab. Now though, only the hot drink was on his mind. He brought the mug up to his lips, ready to take a sip and point out everything wrong with it. He tilted it, and—

It was just how Rintarou liked it, no sugar added. However, he couldn’t bring himself to enjoy it, be it the hangover or the news he’d been told the night before. 

One thing he knew for sure was that this coffee had nothing to do with the crap Osamu had been lovingly serving him in the morning for the past few years, along with a breakfast that made him feel absolutely cherished. Rintarou was fine with that. A cup of coffee could never compare to the life he spent with Osamu. He's been making his own most of the time anyway. 

Ginjima sat across from him. And although Rintarou pretended not to notice and to be focused on sipping the drink, he felt observed, probably even judged. Even if Rintarou was to call him out on it, Ginjima would deny it. All he could do was endure the gaze, fantasizing about what the guy may think of him, expecting the worst from him, just like Rintarou expected the worst from everyone.

“Osamu still cares about you, you know. He asks us how you’re doing.” It was said in a beat, sharp as the blade of a mincing knife.

Rintarou remained silent, unable to tell him off. The coffee sliding down his throat was bitter, but it wasn’t because of the way Ginjima prepared it. It was the kind of bitter that was hard to swallow. The liquid felt sticky, giving the impression that it was clinging to the walls of his throat, making it harder and harder for him to drink it down. He suspected that the blame was on his throat tightening rather than the cheap coffee. 

Ginjima was too kind. Rintarou didn’t know how to deal with people like him. Sure, his friend was full of good intentions, but he preferred the ugly, harsh truth over sugar-coated lies. Though Osamu was usually depicted as a straightforward person himself, he had softened a lot in their relationship. Rintarou hated it. Perhaps had it been what led their relationship to sink deeper and deeper each day. 

Picking on Osamu had been his way to make sure he still cared. It was how it had always been. Fights would happen in the morning, and by the time the sun would rise the next day, they’d wake up cuddled up in bed together. Rintarou couldn’t pinpoint the moment it had gone wrong. One day, his husband simply stopped fighting back, and their situation slipped through their fingers, before either of them could do something about it.

***

Osamu used to be the one who was in charge of the groceries. When he was in the mood, Rintarou would join him. He didn’t particularly enjoy the fresh atmosphere of the stores, but the warmth of Osamu’s hand and the chance to stare at his face scrutinizing the vegetables had made it more tolerable. Now, all Rintarou was holding onto was a shopping basket, full with microwavable meals.

Walking down the coffee aisle, Rintarou froze when he started paying attention to his surroundings. In the middle of the aisle stood Miya Osamu, smiling at him, a little sheepishly. The need to run away was strong, burning from the dip of his knees to his contracting leg muscles, and he would have without a second thought if it hadn’t been for Osamu's eyes on him. 

With a gulp, Rintarou made a tentative and stiff first step, then he took a deep inhale. Rintarou got a brief instant of relief as Osamu looked away to reach and pick up a second bag on one of the shelves. 

“Yer still using the same brand, right?”

Rintarou nodded, accepting the bag, eager for this short interaction to be over already. He pulled on it, ready to leave as soon as possible, but Osamu didn't let go. Following his frown, which was directed somewhere between them, Rintarou pulled again, a tad more roughly this time, when he noticed the object of Osamu's concern. He shoved the item in his basket and kept his hand balled into a fist at his side.

“Rin...”

“Don’t. Don’t give me that look. You told me I could keep your name on my jersey for a while to avoid journalists’ questions. How is this any different?”

It wasn’t about being pestered by journalists. Well, it kind of was, but it was not the inherent reason why he hadn’t lost the ring. Losing it would have meant defeat, the sensible part of him knew and screamed at him that it wasn’t right, and still he could not bring himself to move on. Moving on was a hard process, painful, and Rintarou didn’t feel ready to be lonely again. It had been so long, he was convinced he'd forgotten how to live on his own again. He’d never really depended on anyone in his life, until Osamu came along and ruined it. He was different, and they were like each other’s shadow, or so Rintarou had thought.

“I think it’s different for you. Listen, Rin, I’m going through the same shit, y‘know-”

“Why are you all so adamant about me feeling like shit?” It came out a little louder and more aggressive than he intended; Rintarou was exhausted. He felt his blood boil inside, fed up with pity. “I’ll have you know I am doing _wonderfully_ , ‘Samu. I am getting over you, so it would be appreciated if you did the same.”

“I'm just lookin’ out for you.” The frown on Osamu's face showed that he didn’t believe him, but Rintarou didn’t believe him back, so it was only fair game. 

“Are you now? And oh—” He scoffed, pettiness taking over him as he set the package back on the shelf, picking the first one he saw next. “Y’know, I was bein’ nice, but I’ve actually stopped drinkin’ that brand a while ago now.”

That said, he walked hurriedly towards the self-checkouts, unwilling to wait in the queue or have a cashier asking him if he was doing okay. He would finish his errands at the small store on his way home. The tears prickling at his eyes didn’t mean anything, Rintarou swore he was doing fine; he didn't need anyone to worry over him.

*******

Gentle knocks against the door could be heard as soon as he got out of the shower. Wrapping a towel around his neck to prevent his hair from wetting his shirt, he went to open it. His heart skipped a beat when he found a grinning Atsumu on his doorstep.

“Let me in, will ya’?”

Atsumu never asked anything, even out of politeness, but he didn’t leave Rintarou the time to question it before he was already inside. Atsumu had never been a polite person either. He was rude, and his smiles were usually smug, not almost genuine. Something was wrong, and it only took Rintarou a second to feel it. 

“‘Samu asked me to drop off yer stuff. So I'm, y’know. Droppin’ it off.”

It was surely only in his mind, muddled with the lack of sleep, but the noise of the box dropping against the table seemed to echo through the apartment. It almost made Rintarou jump. 

Atsumu sighed and continued, unbothered by his lack of response.“Yeah— Hmm, he’s an idiot. If this bothers you, I can take it home. I haven’t had dinner ‘nyway. And if anything’s missing, you can tell me, and I’ll just go get it. And kick his ass for forgetting, or tryin’ to get his hands on it. Whichever it is.”

Rintarou padded closer carefully. Atsumu let out a gross snort, a suppressed smile on his face, and it stuck out like a sore thumb that he had a mocking comment in mind, but he surprisingly kept it to himself. Had Rintarou been less prideful and vulnerable in that moment, he would have asked him what was so funny. He decided against it, expecting the other man's pleased smile at his bewilderment. Besides, he was not confident that he was composed enough to come up with a good comeback.

He hauled the box up. Caught by the movement, a paper flew to the floor. Rintarou stared at it, and before he could decide to squat down and pick it up, Atsumu lunged forward and beat him to it.

“Uh, yeah, about that—”he drawled, which was a thing Rintarou hadn’t heard from him since Atsumu had broken his phone screen the year before. He knew it was going to suck.

Atsumu shook the sheet with swift and sharp movements of his wrist, as if to get dirt off it. There was no need to; Rintarou had cleaned up that morning. It was the first time in months, actually, and he wished he could speak up and point it out, but the tension was too heavy. 

Nervous laughter filled his ears, and he could feel his right eye twitch at how Atsumu’s hand went to rub his neck. He didn’t even know what to be mad about yet, but being on edge lately, he tried his hardest to contain himself. It must have been the first time Rintarou saw the man tiptoeing around a subject. It didn’t take him long to decide he hated _this_ Atsumu. 

“‘Samu said it’s a simple agreement, and you’ll both benefit from it. I didn’t really listen— y’know, it was a bunch of complicated terms. But yeah, basically, there’ll be no consequences.”

“No consequences, really?” A dry laugh left Rintarou’s throat. His stomach lurched. 

A pause. Then, Atsumu spoke again, his voice much lower than a few seconds ago, which was already quieter than usual. Too quiet for either of them not to execrate it. 

“Yeah, I know, it sucks. Please, just sign them, Sunarin.”

A sentiment of injustice surged over Rintarou. He wanted to yell at him, tell him not to call him this nickname, that he wasn’t being a friend right now, but he knew better than this. Being resentful at the world was draining, and it didn’t change a thing.

Atsumu didn’t understand what it was like to be loved for years and then pushed away. He had known unrequited crushes and rejections, but he’d never had something promised to last forever only to get it taken away a little more every day. No one could even be blamed for the loss; it was just how things went. 

All Rintarou could do was turn his nose up and stick his gaze outside, pretending not to be bothered by the sun blinding him. He thought of that one day, the taste of dark coffee sticking to the inside of his cheeks, nestling itself between his teeth and gums, and the faint clicking of the clock’s hands that he completely forgot in the moment. Osamu’s voice, that he could never forget, but had wanted to shut out then. It didn’t take long for the silhouette of Atsumu in the corner of his eye to move, followed by the sound of a door closing. 

***

Later the same week, Rintarou drank his coffee, as he was used to doing before getting ready for practice. In front of him was the paper that had been lying untouched for the past few days; the black ink on white, pristine paper taunting him first thing in the morning. He then started glowering, conscious that starting a one-sided staring contest with the abandoned sheet was pointless, preposterous even, but it made up for Osamu’s absence. His eyes didn’t leave it as he set down his mug a bit too harshly, right on the document.

“ _Shit_ ,” Rintarou mumbled as the white around the cup darkened. Standing up in a hurry, he set the mug aside quickly, spilling more coffee on the table, droplets falling on his hand. 

Looking back at the paper, he couldn’t help the snarl that passed his teeth. The universe must have been getting a good laugh at him. The word ‘divorce’ was now circled by a brown stain the size of the bottom of the mug. 

“Screw you,” Rintarou muttered as he walked to the sink to clean the mess he'd made.

He wasn’t sure who it was directed to. 

***

“You’re going to catch a cold like this.”

Rintarou spared a side glance up at the man standing next to him, but his eyes drifted almost immediately back to the road. His plans to spend the break from practice alone with his thoughts were evidently ruined. 

“So are you.”

“All the more reason for you to get back inside, because I intend to pester you until you leave.”

Komori sat next to him, letting out a long sigh akin to the ones old people did after making an effort. Rintarou wanted to point it out, but knowing Komori, he could easily get offended. Rintarou had always been fine with silence, just sitting next to people he appreciated and doing nothing in particular, thinking about nothing in particular, looking at nothing in particular.

With Komori, though, the silence was heavy and embarrassing. From the moment Rintarou had met him—greeted by a bright smile that was betrayed by his wary eyes, seizing him—to that day in the coffeeshop, his friend always had a strong presence making itself known through his life. It was most likely the first time the two of them had ever seriously fought. Komori had helped him open up and comfortably settle down on their team. It was only a detail but, though Rintarou was far from being unhappy before, he had found himself smiling more easily around Komori.

He did not want to lose this; he missed a lot of things already. Swallowing his pride and facing the mist he’d been living in for a while now, his mouth opened, but no sound came out. He relaxed and twisted his jaw around the words, tasting them. It didn’t feel too bad anymore.

“Osamu wants a divorce.”

There was a choked noise next to him, and then “ _Shit_.” Komori Motoya and his infamous delicacy.

“Yeah. Shit.” Rintarou didn’t know whether his smile was amused or acrid anymore. Smiling came to him easily these days, but he couldn’t tell when he meant it.

“Is that why— the other day?”

“No. That was because I’m a piece of shit.”

“I am surprised but pleased that you’re finally admitting it. Did you have an epiphany last night or something?”

Rintarou rolled his eyes. “Seriously, I’m sorry.” 

“Stop it or else I’m gonna have to start pitying you.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Rintarou was convinced Komori’s laugh could cure an illness that had yet to be discovered. He had always been charming; every single one of his gestures seemed practiced, calculated, and thought through. That was how he often got things to go his way. Though, a thing the people in Komori’s life tended to forget was that Komori was a monster, buried under layers and layers of bright smiles, deep sea blue eyes, and compliments spoken with a dulcet voice. 

Rintarou was reminded of Komori's true nature as he lost his balance, after being shoved a bit too roughly, and landed right into a puddle. It wasn’t intentional, given the expression on Komori's face, round eyes wide open and lips pinched to stop a laugh —that inevitably came out because it was Komori Motoya, and he was a human child with no self-control. 

Before his teammate even got to muster an insincere apology, Rintarou grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled Komori down with him, his body crashing against the concrete and causing the water to splash him again. They laid there for a bit, their heads against one another, staring at the sky, trying and failing to ease out their laughter. Washio arrived soon after, eternally designated by their teammates to go and get them whenever they drifted away, to stop whatever they were—allegedly—up to. He scolded them, and, once they faced their coach, clothes drenched and wetting the floor they walked on, he simply sighed and sent them to the locker room to dry themselves and change.

On their way out, grinning at each other like they hadn’t been able to do in a while, Rintarou heard behind them: “Suna, Komori. It’s good to have you back.”

“So, what are you going to do, about, uh—” Komori asked, wringing his shirt over the shower drain. He stopped and made a vague gesture with his hands to emphasize his point. Rintarou rolled his eyes at his attempt to preserve him. 

“The divorce, yeah.”

“Yeah.” 

“I don’t know. I think I need to clear my mind a little first.”

“You can do that?” Komori chuckled. “How?”

Rintarou paused to wonder, and there was only one person that appeared to him, as clear as day. 

***

He looked back at the paddy field extending behind him. An enthralling shade of orange was tinting the sky, reflecting on the growing rice. Staring at it was enough to make Rintarou sick in his stomach, imagining Kita giving his all to take care of such a large area every day. 

He remembered one time he’d woken up to a birthday text from Kita, sent at five in the morning. Later, he showed up to the not-so-surprise birthday that Osamu had hosted for him and stayed after everyone left to clean up, chiding Osamu when he said he would take care of it the next morning. Rintarou had barely managed to make it through the day and stay alive by the end of it. If he hadn’t stuck around Kita long enough to not notice anything out of the ordinary, he would probably have still thought he was some kind of god.

“Suna.” Even his smile felt deliberate. Rintarou was convinced that if someone calculated the curve of his lips, they would obtain the golden ratio. The Vitruvian Man itself would only be a poor draft of Kita Shinsuke. “I didn’t expect you so soon.”

“I didn’t tell you I was coming.”

“Let’s take a walk.”

Kita closed the door behind him and started walking down the alley along the field. Rintarou couldn’t help but follow, picking up the pace and catching up to him. Even if Kita didn’t seem to pay any attention to him, looking right in front of himself, his lips naturally curled upwards; he felt observed, naked to the bone and vulnerable, feelings and thoughts seen right through. Rintarou knew he had all his attention and that Kita was trying to put him as at ease as possible. Still, as someone who didn’t open up to people easily, Rintarou felt highly uncomfortable, knowing that it was not in Kita’s nature to push people and that they could go on like this forever—at least for as long as Kita would deem it reasonable. Or maybe not, actually; even after years, Kita was still just as hard to figure out. 

Clearing his throat, Rintarou had the unpleasant impression of losing to him, despite not knowing what was even at stake. He had always lost to him and his wise tactics.“Have you seen Osamu lately?”

“Last week.”

“Ah— Okay.”

And once again, that was pure Kita Shinsuke, straight to the point. Rintarou guessed his personality clashed with his own, never giving too much or too little, just what was required. It was hard for someone like him to communicate with the older man, trying to hint at things since he’d always been so unwilling to speak his mind.

“If you’ve got something to say, ya’ should say it.”

“If you know what I’m going to say, what's the point?” Rintarou scoffed, stopping himself when he remembered to act unfazed for him. He had picked up the habit of trying to remain as stoic as possible around Kita. 

“But I actually don’t know, Suna. That's the whole point of a conversation.”

 _The bastard._ Kita was now staring right into his eyes, the eerie smile not leaving his face, and Rintarou felt like the privacy of his mind was being violated, which was why he mentally apologized for calling the older man a bastard. “I moved out. We’re not living together anymore.”

“Is that all?” It sounded rather like a _‘I know that and more’_. Rintarou mentally cursed Kita, while still praying he didn’t notice what was going on in his brain.

“We're going to divorce. Probably.”

“Probably.”

“Well, I haven’t signed the papers yet.”

“But do you want to?”

Rintarou kept quiet, his mouth dangerously curled down, and his pupils dangerously heated up. He couldn’t tell, really. At this point, nothing would make their situation more real than it already was. He just wanted it to be over, and signing the papers wouldn’t help. But not signing them wouldn’t help either. He pulled his eyes away, his foot kicking a pebble in his path. 

“Be honest, are you happy in the current state of yer relationship?”

“I love him.”

“Not my question.”

“I don’t know what went wrong. I don't think he knows what went wrong either. How are we supposed to fix something we can’t see?” Rintarou choked out the end of the sentence. He took a deep breath, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Even if he eventually let the tears flow, he refused to sob. 

“As bad as it sounds, divorce is a way to fix it. Not all of it, sure, but it’ll take away the pain of stayin’ with someone for the sake of it.”

“We’ve never— he's still the same person, and so am I. But it feels like we forgot how to communicate together. And it sucks, but it’s not— it’s like nothing is wrong.”

“Y’know, the way you put it, it sounds like pejorative. Divorce doesn’t necessarily mean it's the end. Sometimes you need to lose something to realize how much it means to you.”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works.”

“Not necessarily. Everything is subjective.” Kita shrugged.Then, as if on cue, he noticed weeds and crouched down to rip them out, leaving the younger man to his own thoughts. His words seemed rather optimistic, but Rintarou wasn’t one to enjoy getting his hopes up, so he tried not to meditate too much on them. 

“Do you ever miss Aran?” It was out of the blue, maybe a little rude, but it felt just the right moment to ask this question.

“I am still dating Ojirou.” Kita read everyone like open books, but it still managed to piss off Rintarou, who was still waiting for the day when he’d beat him at his own game. 

“And I am technically still married to Osamu.”

Rintarou braced himself for the cold truth, a raw comment that may be a little cruel but as factual as everything Kita said. What he did not expect was the bow of his head and the indulgent chuckle Kita let out in agreement. 

“Loving from afar is still loving, and it’s better than not at all.” He paused, chuckling at the puzzled look on Rintarou’s face. “It isn’t my place to speak for him, but I think Osamu understands that.”

“Can it go back to how it used to be?”

“I am not saying it’ll be easy, but it’s up to you two.”

The way back to Kita’s farmhouse was much more heart-lifting, the two of them catching up with each other, and Rintarou realized how much he'd missed his friend. Kita had that presence that stuck with all of Inarizaki every day, with each and every one of them taking care of themselves, remembering the scoldings full of hidden care they had endured back in high school. Maybe that was what he meant by not realizing how much something meant to him until he lost it.

“Now, Suna, why don’t ya’ stay for dinner? I’ve bought a new brand of dark roast coffee, I think you'll like it. We can try it together afterwards.”

No one could ever refuse anything to Kita Shinsuke; that was a trait he definitely got from his grandmother. Rintarou stayed for dinner and for coffee. It tasted like a lot of money had been spent on it, but it may have just been because of the person who prepared it. Anything Kita did was perfect and finished.

It’d been a simple yet eventful night. Rintarou cried, he smiled, and he laughed. The company of an old friend warmed his heart, good coffee warmed his stomach, and when he left, he felt refreshed. He had a hunch it wasn’t only because of the gust of wind hitting his face. 

***

A deep breath. It wasn’t as dramatic as he was making it out to be. A little push of an index finger to the envelope, and it disappeared behind the slit. He looked up at the name written on the mailbox to make sure he'd slid it in the right one, as if he hadn’t checked many times beforehand.

“Rin?”

And shit. Rintarou knew what it might have seemed like, after months of clinging to illusions. He wouldn’t blame Osamu for not believing him. But this time, it was really over; he’d started getting a hang on his life again. If anything, he only felt ashamed about the way he had handled the situation in the first place.

“I— fuck. I wasn’t here to see you, I swear. I mean— I was there for you, sure, but it’s not _like that_ .” In the middle of tripping over his words, Rintarou still managed to emphasize the _‘like that.'_ “I'm fine now. I promise. Sorry.”

He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, embarrassed by the amount of words that just came out of his mouth. Osamu, out of all people in the world, could see through him with just that and even less. 

“Good to hear that.”

His tone was as cold as Osamu could make it, but Rintarou didn’t miss the fondness in it. He approached the mailbox and opened it. When he picked up the letter, Rintarou was pretty sure he'd imagined the drop in his expression. It was so brief it had to be fruit of his imagination, and yet he couldn’t help but focus on it and what it meant—what it _could_ mean. 

“Do you wanna go upstairs and get coffee? To talk and—” Osamu paused, closed his eyes, and brought back his gentle smile. “I think we need to talk.”

Rintarou froze. He thought of the past six months, during which he'd worked on finding the strength to overcome himself. He was tempted to refuse, and he knew that if he did, regrets would not strike him too hard, not anymore. On the other hand, the thought of plunging back head first into a pit full of false hopes terrified him.

_I am not saying it’ll be easy, but it’s up to you two._

Osamu was reaching out to him, regardless of the torment Rintarou put the two of them through, or of the way he himself let it happen. Upon the realization that Osamu was willing to build something with him again, Rintarou felt lighter. 

“Or— tea. Oh, nevermind. It’s black coffee or nothing with you.” Osamu let out a small laugh as his upper body rocked back and forth, scraping his sole against the floor. “I just thought it’d be nice.”

Rintarou thought of too-sweet coffee with a hint of cream, its color caramel rather than actual raw, dark coffee. He thought of the warmth of an apartment that once was his, of steam hitting his face, of the smile of someone that he loved. There was also a part of him that itched to follow Osamu and discover by himself what had changed—if anything even _had_ changed. He wondered if Osamu kept those fluffy blankets that used to lie around on the couch. He never used them; only Rintarou curled into them, rubbing his face against the soft fabric.

The idea of Osamu keeping a piece of him was surprisingly as appealing as the idea of him getting rid of his things, of them moving on together while being apart. They could do it together, fixing things without having to change anything about themselves. It was how they had always worked, no matter how bad it had been. If they were both willing to put effort inTO this, they may be fine again one day. 

He wanted to smile. He wanted to give in and allow himself to be happy without thinking about what might happen next. So he did.

“I guess I can spare you an hour or two.”

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading this fic which really took a lot of time -though, i'm a real slow writer- and introspection to write. always remember to take good things out of the worst situations, no matter how long it takes.
> 
> hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> find me on [twitter.](https://twitter.com/sunagram)


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